


i'll be home for christmas

by bettycooopers



Series: twelve days of barchie [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 12 Days of Barchie, Christmas Smut, F/M, PWP, Post-Season/Series 04, reggie mantle has a party house and everyone should know this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: Archie Andrews learns a few things about Betty Cooper during Christmas break.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Series: twelve days of barchie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066289
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	i'll be home for christmas

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the 12 days of barchie! i'll be posting one barchie fic every day for the next 12 days to celebrate the season & get us in the spirit 🥰 see you all tomorrow! 
> 
> thank you to my editor/therapist/co-conspirator/brain cell mate/codependent, [becca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday) – when i tell you all that the things you like about my fics are becca's edits, i am not lying. they would be unhinged without her, and also literally would not exist...so! thank u, my fave canadian.

Archie Andrews learns a few things about Betty Cooper during Christmas break.

He doesn’t plan on spending too much time with her — not alone, anyway, because even though they’d parted ways as friends at the end of the summer, he’s not sure he’s over her enough to just…spend time with her, like it’s normal. Things had blown up with all of them, after all, and even though it had been their fault, _their_ relationship was the one that was most frayed…mostly because the two of them no longer _had_ relationships with Jughead or Veronica.

Anyway, he hadn’t planned on spending much time with her…but then she’s just smiling at him from the kitchen island at Reggie’s wearing a denim skirt, knee high boots, and a pale pink sweater, and…well, he’s always been a sucker for learning new things about Betty Cooper, especially when she’s wearing a pink sweater.

Thing number one is that Betty Cooper can hold her liquor. 

He didn’t know this back in high school because he was used to seeing Betty drunk on sugary wine coolers or watered down beer, which tended to make her sick and give her a headache. Oddly enough, though, Betty seems strangely sober as she tips back what he has discovered is her second gin drink, leaning back against Reggie’s parents' countertop. She peeks at Archie over the rim of her plastic cup and he watches as her cheeks go pink.

“You sure you’re alright?” He puts his hand on her arm, his fingers cupped around her elbow. She looks down at them, laughing and raising her brow at him as her eyes move back up to his.

“I’m good, are you alright?” There is a challenge in her tone he’s not used to, one he finds a little too attractive for the number of drinks they’ve had and the time of night they’re creeping towards.

“I’m great,” he says into his beer before taking a sip. He swallows and smirks at her, his brows knit together. She rolls her eyes at him.

“I’m _fine_ , Arch. You learn things at Yale,” she shrugs her shoulder coyly, “I could drink like two more of these and still be relatively sober.”

“Doubtful,” he chuckles, “you seem to forget that I’ve _met_ you, but, whatever you say — you’re the smart one.” She reaches over and shoves at his shoulder, laughing. 

–

Thing number two is that Betty Cooper still wears the same strawberry lip balm she’d been wearing since at least sophomore year of high school. 

They’ve moved down to Reggie’s basement after covering the basics: she’s not dating anyone, he’s not dating anyone, her classes are hard but fun, his training is hard — period, Jughead stayed in Iowa for the holidays to “keep working”, his Mom was coming down from Chicago in a few days for Christmas Eve. 

So, fine. Whatever. The Jughead part had been slightly overwhelming — just hearing his name had made Archie’s skin crawl — but otherwise, things were relatively normal, and now they were sitting on a couch in Reggie’s basement, Betty’s ankles crossed and resting in Archie’s lap.

“Should we play spin the bottle?” He hears Cheryl Blossom’s voice clear as day from across the room, and he frowns over at Betty, placing his hands over the faux-leather of her boots. Cheryl seems to be joking because people are laughing at her, but he can’t be taking any chances.

“Whatever you do, don’t move. Pretend we’re dead,” he says, his voice low and serious. Betty snorts. She takes a sip from her third drink. Archie sips from his fourth beer (he’d had to catch up, okay) and raises his brows over at her as she scoots herself a little closer to him, leaning her head down, her lips near his ear.

“When you and I pretend people are dead, we tend to get ourselves into more trouble,” she mumbles, a laugh in her throat. He smirks. They haven’t talked about this, ever, he doesn’t think. He bites down on the inside of his lip as he feels her lips drag across his cheek in a way he can’t tell is deliberate or not. He feels her thumb brush against his cheek to wipe off the lip balm. Not deliberate, he thinks. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and he peeks over at her, grinning.

“What’re you sorry for,” he chuckles, and before he knows what he’s doing, he pulls her thumb to his lips, kissing the pad of it, tasting the strawberry lip balm she’s left behind. He feels her suck in a breath and lets his eyes move to her lips for a moment, then looks up at her eyes, which are on _his_ lips. 

Betty smiles, pulling her hand away and shaking her head at him, busying herself with her cup and thinking he can’t hear her mumble, “all sorts of things,” into it before she takes another drink.

–

Thing number three is that Betty Cooper is stronger than she looks. 

He kind of already knew this, in a way, but after a bit of time on the couch and another beer for him, as well as a water for her, the basement is getting a bit too crowded. He can’t hear her talking and people keep interrupting them, so he hooks a thumb over his shoulder towards the staircase. “Upstairs? We can go into the sun room, bet no one’s out there.”

“That’s because it’s _cold_ in there, Archie,” she whines, but stands up and smooths out her skirt anyway. He feels her reaching for his hand and looks down at their fingers, interlocking, before grinning up at her. “I’m not trying to get lost _and_ cold,” she yells, close to his ear, “lead the way, let’s go.” They make their way up the stairs and he can feel eyes on them, but he doesn’t really care — people can say whatever they want, he’s a little busy hanging out with his best friend. 

Reggie’s sun room is less of a room and more an indoor porch. Three of the walls are made entirely of windows, and the space is decorated with very nice patio furniture: chaise lounges and wicker sofas, as well as a covered hot tub at one end. Archie’s always liked it out here, and he knows Betty likes the lounge chairs from past experience — one of the first times they’d been drunk as kids, she’d refused to sleep anywhere but the chaise lounge, so he’d cuddled up next to her for the night.

He plucks a blanket off one of the sofas and wraps it around her shoulders, smiling as she lets out a happy sounding sigh. “It’s not even that _cold,_ Betty.” 

“Still,” she laughs, tightening the blanket around her shoulders with one hand and bringing her water cup to her lips with the other, “it’s nice to be warm. You wouldn’t know, you’re always warm.”

He rolls his eyes at her — she’s not _wrong_ , necessarily, but still. He watches as she sets her cup down on the little end table next to the sofa, and before he knows what’s happening, she’s got his shirt fisted in her hand and is pulling him towards her. His beer sloshes slightly as she presses herself into him, slipping the blanket off of herself and letting it fall to the ground. 

“Jesus,” he laughs, “have you been lifting?”

“Body heat is better, actually,” she mumbles, ignoring his question and pressing her face into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. He chokes out a cough. “Don’t you think?”

“Betty,” he breathes, his face pressing down into her hair without a second thought. He lets out a slow, content sigh as his arms wrap around her waist, his hands pressing into the small of her back. 

“Hmm?” She sounds tipsy and rambunctious, her voice verging on laughter. He feels her nose pressed between his pecs.

“Don’t start something you’re gonna want to stop,” he hears himself saying, his fingers spreading on her back. He hears her laughing, throaty and low, vibrating against his chest. Her fingernails dig into his neck and he lets out a low growl. 

“Don’t plan on it, Arch,” she says, her voice soft. “Now, warm me up.”

–

Thing number four is that Betty Cooper goes commando under her short denim skirts…or at least, she is under this one. 

The sun room doesn’t have a door, and he’s not fucking doing this with her in a room that’s not _sealed_. If he’s going to get her out of her skirt, he’s not going to be worrying someone is going to walk in on them with even one percent of his brain. He hasn’t even kissed her yet, but they have time — for once, there’s _time_ on their side — so he smirks down at her and watches as she tilts her face up, biting her lip. 

“Upstairs,” he says, his voice low, “let’s go.” She nods, trailing her fingers down his neck, down his chest, pressing them into his stomach at the bottom of his shirt. He shuts his eyes for a second, smiling as she laughs up at him, shaking his head. “ _Now_ , Betty, let’s _go_.” 

He thinks he’s going to lose his fucking mind, hearing her drunkenly giggle and feeling her hands on his chest, the two of them hurrying through the house and up the back staircase. He finds the door to the guest room easily, jiggling it open and smirking as he watches her walk through it. He manages to flip the lock of the door before she’s got him pressed up against it, her hands sliding up beneath his shirt, her mouth on his.

He’s missed kissing her, truly — he’s missed kissing anyone, sure, but kissing _her_ isn’t like kissing anyone else. Her lips are soft and her tongue tastes like gin and cinnamon gum. He slips his fingers into her hair and pulls her up, closer, his head spinning. When they pull back for air, her nails dig into the skin of his chest and her teeth sink into his lower lip. He groans as he looks down at her, the sound intensifying when he sees her with her eyes closed, cheeks flushed, hair mussed. He slides his hands down to her back, pulling her into him and kissing her again, his tongue teasing at hers, his teeth scraping against it. 

She whines into his mouth and he uses one of his arms to lift her, his forearm dipping down beneath her ass to pull her up. He feels her legs wrap around his waist and he pushes at her skirt with his free hand so she can get a better hold. He feels his fingers slide along her bare leg, her bare thigh, her bare hip, and he lets out a groan into her mouth. He pulls his lips from hers and spins them around, pressing her against the door and keeping his face close to hers. She’s laughing at him, her face red, eyes closed as she tries to go for his lips again. He pulls his head back and she whines, still laughing, and then presses her face down to his neck, nipping at his skin.

“You’re not wearing underwear, Betty,” he says, pressing his torso to hers to keep her steady and sliding one of his hands between her legs. She’s giggling, again, and he doesn’t fucking know what to do as he lets his fingers confirm that, no, she’s not wearing any fucking underwear, and yes, _holy shit_ , she’s already _so_ wet. “Betts,” he groans, pressing his forehead against hers, shaking his head, “are you fucking kidding me?”

“‘Fraid not,” she giggles, breathless, her lips latched onto his neck. She scrapes her teeth over his skin and he feels her smirking as he growls, low in his throat. “Question is,” she mumbles, dragging her lips from his neck to his jaw, his jaw to his mouth, stopping as her lips graze his, “what exactly are you gonna do about it?”

He shuts his eyes and lets out a slow breath. “How drunk are you,” he mumbles, not wanting to break this fucking bubble, but knowing he has to, “s’the real question, here.” 

“I’m _fine_ , Archie,” she whines, her hand coming up to hold his face, her thumb and index finger pressing into his cheeks, “ _look_ at me, look,” she seems to be waiting for him to open his eyes, so he does. He looks at her face, looks straight into her eyes, “I’m _fine_ ,” she repeats, “I promise. I want this.”

“Yeah?” He lets his own eyes go a little soft, searching her face. She leans in and kisses him gently.

“I’ve _always_ wanted this,” she breathes against his mouth, “but don’t make me talk about it, hmm?”

“Hmm,” he responds, a small grin on his lips. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth, chuckling at the low whine she lets out, “hmm, yeah?” 

“Shut up, Archie,” she whines, slipping her fingers into his hair and digging her nails harshly into his scalp. “Shut the fuck up, _hmm?”_

He listens, then, carrying her to the bed and dropping her down onto it. He makes quick work of his own clothes, getting himself down to his boxers and watching as she pulls her sweater over her head. “Let me,” he mumbles, shaking his head, her hands slowing as she reaches down for her skirt, “stop, let me.” 

He reaches for the long zipper going down the front of her skirt, pulling it and groaning as it slides down, unzipping the whole thing and pulling it off her, licking his lips as she looks at him in just her bra, propped up on her elbows, hair falling over one shoulder. _God_ , she’s fucking gorgeous. He swallows, sliding his hands down her body and smirking as she moans, her body pressing up into his hands as he travels down. He pushes his hands into her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed and dropping to his knees, kissing the inside of her kneecap and looking up at her as he slips her legs over his shoulders.

He swallows as she shudders, sitting up a bit more to slip her fingers into his hair and tug on it lightly. “You don’t have to,” she whispers, and he laughs because she doesn’t sound totally convinced, herself.

“What’d I tell you,” he mumbles, his lips against her thigh. She grips onto his hair and he hears her let out a shaky breath. “Don’t start something you’re gonna want to stop, Betts. If you don’t want me to—,” 

“Fuck, I want you to,” she whines, “ _God_ , Archie, I was being _polite_.”

“We’re way past polite,” he mumbles, teasing his fingers against the highest point of her inner thighs, keeping them just centimeters from where she wants them, “wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say lot of shit if I weren’t about to ki-,” she stops talking because he presses his flattened tongue along her wet folds and he’s pretty sure her vocabulary is reduced to a few swear words, his name, and the sexiest sounding moans he’s ever heard. 

He lets her use him a little, pressing his tongue against her in patterns and letting her grind her hips into his mouth. He figures out where she needs him and what she likes, then braces his arm over her hips and listens to her groan as she writhes against him, sees her shaking her head. “Stop,” he mumbles, his lips wet with her as he lifts his head to meet her eyes, “I know you, stop fucking moving.”

“Archie,” she whines, her voice breathless, “ _please_ , fuck. _Please_ ,” she reaches down and digs her nails into his shoulder, “ _go_.”

“I _will_ once you stay still,” he chuckles, bracing his arm against her a little harder and then moving back down between her legs, pressing his mouth to her. He moves his tongue in wide strokes against her as he slips two of the fingers from his free hand into her, curling them slowly. He smirks as he hears her breathing heavily, moaning as her fingers dig into his hair, her nails pressed into his scalp.

“ _There_ ,” she whines, as his tongue circles her clit, his fingers working her steadily, but still too slowly, “ _there_ , and faster.” Her voice is different than he’s ever heard it, and he can’t quite move his head to see her face, but he knows that’s different than he’s ever seen it, he’s sure. 

He does as he’s told, his tongue tapping against her clit, fingers gradually moving faster until he can feel her tightening against him and he wraps his lips around her clit, sucking hard against it. “ _A_ _rch_ ,” she moans, her fingers tightening in his hair as her hips manage to move under his grip, pressing up into his face as he feels her coming against his tongue, “ _holy fuck_.” 

–

Thing number five is that Betty Cooper has thought about their first time, together, as much as he has.

She’s still coming down when he crawls up her body, kissing her flushed skin as she lays there, spent. When he reaches her mouth, his lips are wet and he kisses her slowly, pressing his tongue against hers so she can taste herself on it. She should know how fucking good she tastes, he thinks. 

He pulls her up slightly, holding her against him and unhooking her bra easily, with a pinch of his fingers. He laughs at the little gasp she lets out, shaking his head and kissing her lips gently, grinning when she bites on his lower lip softly, lazily. He pulls her on top of him, smirking as she straddles his waist but leans down, her hands lacing into his hair again and her lips finding his. “You’re good at that,” she mumbles into his mouth, her bare chest pressing into his. He lets his eyes fall down her body, sucking in a breath as he takes her in, flushed and beautiful. 

“You’re good at _that_ ,” he mumbles, smiling when she laughs down at him, her fingers pressing into his boxers, teasing at his hip bones. “God,” he breathes, letting his head fall back against the pillows, “m’gonna die.”

“Please don’t,” she says, her voice sweet and soft, “at least not before we do this, okay?” He smirks up at her, but offers her a soft nod, lacing his fingers with hers.

“Long time coming,” he smiles, sitting himself up a bit and wrapping one of his arms around her easily, pulling her close, their chests pressing together. “Think…it’s gonna live up to all your expectations?”

“Oh, Archie,” she laughs, shaking her head, her cheeks red. “It’s already surpassed those.” He feels his cheeks reddening – the idea of Betty admitting she’s _thought about them having sex_ kind of blowing his mind, even though they are about to _literally_ have sex. She presses her hips down against him as she drags her hands up over his cheeks, pulling his face to hers and kissing him slowly. He moves his tongue against hers, his hands sliding up to her wrists and holding them, his thumbs grazing along her forearms slowly. 

“Been fantasizing about me, huh,” he breathes against her mouth when they pull apart, and he hears her laughing, feels it reverberate into his mouth. 

“Too much,” she murmurs, “too much to tell you, s’embarrassing.”

“Not embarrassing,” he chuckles, his thumbs moving in a slow line along her skin, “I’ve been doing the same thing for years.” He smiles at the way she sucks in a breath, then kisses him again, taking her time.

At some point, she slips off his underwear, and at another point, he feels her hand running along his length and he almost fucking loses it, Betty’s fingers sure and soft, holding him tight in her hand. “Careful,” he bites out, his voice low, “careful.”

“Why,” she giggles softly, raising her brow as she twists her wrist, “would I want to do that?”

She’s got herself pressed against him and is about to sink down onto him when he slides a hand to her cheek, raising his brow. He can’t believe he’s about to do this, but he knows he’ll be mad at himself if he doesn’t. “Sure you want our first time to be…this, Betts,” he breathes, his lips close to hers, his eyes focused on hers. She looks at him hazily, like his face is still coming into focus, and then her expression softens and she shuts her eyes for a moment. “We can wait, we can…do it fully sober, tomorrow.”

“Arch,” she sighs, her voice sweet and agonizing at the same time, “yes. We can be sober tomorrow morning, sure…but m’not _not_ doing this, now,” she kisses him gently. “I just want _you_ , I don’t…the circumstances around it don’t _matter_ , anymore, okay? I need you, and you,” she squeezes him lightly in her hand, “need me, too.” He lets out a slow, relieved breath and smiles when she kisses him again. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he mumbles against her mouth, “ _seriously_ hoping.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” she breathes before shifting her hand and guiding him into her slowly, sinking down onto him with a loud moan, her hand gripping onto his forearm.

He watches as she leans forward a bit, her head dropping down, her hands pressed to his chest as she rolls her hips against his slowly, just getting used to him. He feels like he might fucking black out, or something as he leans back against the pillows — she’s _so_ tight around him and she feels so fucking good that he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to make it for long. “ _Fuck_ , Betts,” he breathes, his voice ragged. She lets out a moan he hasn’t heard yet, low and gravely, her nails digging into his chest as she circles her hips. He pushes his hips up into hers and she lets out a whine, then lifts herself nearly all the way off him and sinks down hard, letting her head fall back as she repeats the motion again, again, again. 

He trails one of his hands to her waist, the other sliding up to her breast, his thumb brushing roughly over her nipple. He smirks at the way she moans, leaning into his touch. His head is rushing as she rolls her hips against his, watching her cheeks flushing, her hands still firmly planted against his chest as she moves. He’s never seen anything like her, like _this_ , and he pulls her down a bit of the way, leaning up and catching her lips with his once he can reach her. “Go, baby,” he breathes into her mouth, " _fuck_ , you’re close, huh?”

“M’close,” she whines into his mouth, “ _fuck_.” He nods, tugging on her lower lip with his teeth as he uses the leverage of her leaning down to snap his hips up into hers again. She moans into his mouth and he slides his hand off her hip and brushes his fingers in a slow circle around her clit, feeling his stomach starting to tighten as he sees her getting closer, skin flushing, breathing ragged. Her hand slides to his forearm and she holds onto it tight, her nails digging into his skin as he snaps his hips again, his fingers pressing against her clit, and suddenly she’s _tighter_ around him, her jaw going slack. 

It hits him as she’s riding her own orgasm out, her hips still moving, and he groans, falling back to the bed and grabbing onto her hip as he spills into her. She falls on top of him, her hair on his face, her cheek against his lips. “Holy shit,” she breathes, and he nods, unable to speak, still. He slides one of his hands onto her bare back, pressing his fingers against her spine lightly, a groan escaping his throat as she shudders against him. 

He pulls out after a long few moments, letting out a whine and not caring that they’re both a fucking mess as he pulls her against him. He grins as she slips her leg between his and cuddles herself into him. “Hi,” she breathes, tilting her face up and giving him a small, embarrassed smile. 

“Hi,” he chuckles, leaning down and kissing her lips lightly. He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to hers, his nose brushing against hers.

“Are you,” she’s tracing her fingers along his bicep and he’s not sure he can understand words right now, but he focuses his eyes on her mouth and tries his best. “Are you okay with…with all that?”

He laughs, understanding her question slowly, hazily, and nudges her nose with his. “S’long as we get to do it again in the morning,” he grins, “and then like a hundred more times after that, too. Maybe a hundred’s a lowball, actually.”

“Arch,” she laughs, pinching his skin, “seriously.”

“Betts,” he teases, then looks her right in the eye. “Yes, m’okay with all _that_ . Are you?” She nods softly, kissing his chin. “Good,” he breathes, trailing his fingers into her hair and smiling softly. “Y’know, it’s kind of crazy that even though I’ve known you for this long,” he shuts his eyes, pulling her closer, “there’s always something new for me to find out about you. Like you not wearing underwear under that _tiny_ fucking skirt.”

“You’re so _corny_ ,” she laughs, her voice sleepy, lips against the underside of his chin. He shakes his head, laughing back at her.

Corny as it may be, he knows it’s true: even now, he's sure he still has a thing or two to learn about Betty Cooper. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bettycooopers) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


End file.
